


Broken Promise Land

by Keystoffees



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Star Trek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Benedict Cumberbatch as Khan, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hopefully not too preposterous, Khan enjoys red wine, Khan getting into some everyday situations possibly not handling them well, Khan likes control, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Set after STID, Star Trek Into Darkness, Wine, but hopefully lots of porn, he won't always have control though, plumbing woes, shower Khan, wanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5365994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keystoffees/pseuds/Keystoffees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Star Trek Into Darkness, Khan is sent into cryo-sleep, along with the rest of his remaining crew, and placed onboard a prison ship indefinitely. </p><p>Klingons, already angry at being baited and used by Admiral Marcus, have attacked the prison ship and are intent on plunging the universe into all-out war. Their intention to confuse and distract Starfleet and other authorities from their ultimate aim, they are distributing frozen prisoners, and Khan's crew members, onto random planets. </p><p>Unfortunately for them, they have unwittingly damaged some of the prison ship's ageing equipment, leaving it to malfunction spectacularly and sending Khan Noonien Singh back to Earth... To 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to try a longer fic. I want to see how Khan copes with life in the UK in 2015. I don't have a great deal of Star Trek knowledge but I am trying to make this quite plausible. 
> 
> But this is a fic and is supposed to be fun! Hopefully it will be and some of you will enjoy it. 
> 
> <3

2 February 2015. England, UK.

The sunlight pierced the back of his skull as it shone, brightness penetrating his eyelids, making them glow orange, seeping into his consciousness. He knew that opening his eyes would cause him pain and he braced himself for the persistent throb, in time with his pulse, as he prised his eyelashes apart and the light momentarily blinded him. He took a deep breath and winced again as the pain in his ribs surprised him. Running his hands over his face, he sat up, carefully, to avoid further discomfort, and looked around him. A field; muddy and cold, with mist beginning to form as the hill rolled gently away from him and up towards a line of trees, damp and bare in, he deduced, the last of the late winter daylight.

Khan rolled onto his side and pushed himself up onto all fours, taking care to note exactly which movements caused him the most pain, before standing on the soft ground, wiggling his toes inside his black Starfleet-issue boots. Self-diagnosing nothing more than a couple of broken ribs and a mild concussion, he scanned the rest of the horizon, finding nothing of note except a small cottage he could now see in the distance, just where the row of leafless trees ended.

Setting his jaw and narrowing his eyes, he stepped forward, picking up his pace with each step as he headed towards the building, not sure what, or who, he would find there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one while I get started. Promise they'll be a little longer as I get into it!  
> Thanks for reading ;)

11 June 2015. England, UK.

Khan let the water fall over his head as he stood still under the shower, deep in thought while the hot water soothed his worried mind. Eyes shut tight against the onslaught, he ran his hands over his face, clearing away the water so he could open them. Turning toward the shower control, Khan felt the drop in water temperature, signalling that the temperamental hot water boiler had, as usual, given up on its function once again. On reflection, he knew he should limit the time he spent under the water, but nothing gave him clarity and peace of mind quite like that which he found while under the warmth and comfort of the shower. Something that damned boiler was determined to undermine.

He ground his teeth in annoyance while he turned off the water flow and reached for a towel, pulling the jet black bath sheet up to his face to dry it before wrapping it around his waist and stepping out of the shower enclosure onto the dark grey granite tiles.

He padded out of the sleek bathroom and into his sparsely decorated bedroom. It had taken him a few weeks to get the place looking how he wanted it, but now he had finished he took a great deal of pride in his apartment’s masculine superiority. Just like himself, he smirked. Clean lines, period features and modern functionality all combined to provide Khan with a comfortable base from which to make his plans. Plans which, he knew, would take some time to come to fruition.

Dressing slowly and methodically, Khan pulled on his regular black jeans, long sleeved t-shirt and boots and grabbed his wallet, flipping it open to check his ID (flinching slightly when he saw the name John Harrison; although hated, it was once again becoming useful as an alternative identity) and cash were present. Stuffing it into his back pocket, he ran some product through his jet-black hair to tame it as much as possible, grabbed his jacket and breezed out of the door of his apartment, slamming it shut behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

13 June 2015. England, UK.

Finding himself back on Earth had been less of a surprise for Khan than the realisation that the mangled transporter in the secure ship in which he and his crew had been imprisoned, had somehow led to a time warp and transported him back 250 years, into 2015. Two decades after he had ruled a quarter of the Earth’s people, Khan was unceremoniously dumped in a field and left to figure out what the hell to do next. Fortuitously for the residents of the cottage upon whose door he had knocked back in February, he had decided that assuming anonymity was the most favourable course of action while he formulated his next move.

Once he’d secured access to the funds he had had the foresight to stow away in various Swiss bank accounts during his reign in the 1990s, he had come to the conclusion that continuing his facade would be of benefit for as long as possible. Unrecognisable as Khan Noonien Singh, thanks to Alexander Marcus’s intervention when he had originally woken him, Khan had once again assumed the identity of John Harrison and set to work making himself as comfortable as he could.

It had taken him less than 4 months to establish himself as John Harrison; enigmatic, wealthy anthropologist, new to the neighbourhood… but he put his rubbish bins out on the correct day and always held the door open for his elderly downstairs neighbour. It had taken him some time, but he was finally becoming accustomed to blending in. Despite fighting the urge to rip out the ageing plumbing system and fix it - _no, not fix, infinitely improve it_ \- he was playing the part of a man who could afford to live in relative luxury without having to actually work for it (at least not in the traditional sense). Time was on his side, and he could spend as long as he needed planning his return; to be reunited with his crew, to exact his revenge on Starfleet, and escape with the people he loved once and for all. They would -finally- live in peace.

But, Khan reflected as he sat cross legged on his worn brown leather sofa (it was amazing what people in 2015 would pay a premium for), the location of his crew was a deep mystery that he saw no signs of being able to solve any time soon. Untraceable, unreachable, he didn't even know how many of them, if any, were alive. How many had been thrown across not just space, but across time as well? Were they still frozen in cryogenic sleep or had they been woken like him? He knew the Klingons had begun his reawakening before he had left the ship; he had taken his opportunity to fight back as soon as he had felt his motor skills and cognitive function return. He had overpowered three of them with his bare hands and thrown himself into the first transporter device he'd been able to locate. His hastily formed plan to lie low and return for his crew as soon as possible had been completely eclipsed, though, when he woke in that damned field somewhere in North Yorkshire.

Khan curled his top lip into a slight snarl of annoyance, as he remembered how the cold had seeped into his boots as he had made his way towards assistance. The young couple who lived in the cottage offered him a warm drink and directions towards the nearest town. Once he was near to civilisation he had easily talked his way down to London, taking lifts with gruff lorry drivers and trying to block out the tacky American Country music they all seemed to be fond of. But the cold in his boots...

Now, settled in a stylish apartment, nestled in a converted Edwardian house, Khan could take his time, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

***

“Thank you, dear,” the elderly woman said as she hurried through the door to his building while Khan held it open for her.

He nodded in return, eyes following the piece of yellow paper as it fluttered down and landed on the concrete step, just on the outside of the door frame. His plan had been to communicate as little as possible with his neighbours but this was already failing. He spoke softly to the woman, who was beginning to move away, walking stick in hand.

“You have dropped your shopping list,” he said.

“Oh! So I have. I'll need that when I get down to the shops, won't I my love?” the woman turned around and took the piece of paper from Khan’s hand, glancing up as she did so. 

“Lovely eyes you have, my dear,” she said slowly, looking up at him from a height difference of around a foot, plus the step that she had already manoeuvred herself down. “Didn't catch your name, love…?”

“John,” Khan replied, nodding his head once and giving her a cursory smile that didn't really reach his eyes, although the old lady hadn't noticed.

“I'm Mrs Williams. But you can call me Ivy. I’ve got to rush, dear, thanks for your help,” she turned again and shuffled away.

Khan glared at the fleece-clad old woman as she walked away from him, then closed the door and ran up the creaking stairs to his apartment, taking them three at a time.

People in 2015 were nosy, but they were interested in others’ business without actually caring, he thought. He knew the old lady would remember his name, and he hers, but it wasn’t for any real reason except that he was a new face in the building and he could sense his neighbours’ desperation to know more about him. His mind wandered back to his missing crew and he felt a pang of grief for his true brothers and sisters, those who knew him best of all, those he trusted with his life; those who he may never find again.

Suddenly, interrupting his reverie, pricking his thoughts like a pin, there was a sharp squeal from outside his window, followed by a screech of brakes and a dull thud. More irritated than anything else, Khan resolved to try and ignore it. But then he heard the shaky sound of Mrs Williams’ voice and before he could stop himself he had risen to his feet from his habitual perch on his sofa and was padding towards the window to take a look. Perhaps curiosity was indeed catching, he thought briefly.

The scene unfolding itself was not unusual for a London street. Mrs Williams, it appeared, had walked straight into the path of an oncoming cyclist, who had done their best to avoid the elderly lady. Mrs Williams was not fast on her feet, however, so had been unable to move quickly enough to get out of the way, and the resulting collision had also involved a street sign. Mrs Williams looked to be shaken but not injured, he noted as he stared out of the window, wondering why he even cared. The cyclist had taken off her helmet and was asking the older woman if she was okay. Khan exhaled in annoyance and took a brief glance down the street, ready to return to his quiet contemplation, when his eye was caught by the figure advancing towards the altercation taking place on the street.

She was in the process of stopping to add her no-doubt valuable pleasantries to the non-event, but something about her made Khan take a second look. And then a third. A vision in monochrome, stomping down the street, pale hair and black scarf billowing out behind her in the breeze, he felt the first pang of something he had not experienced in quite some time.

_Pleasing_ , he thought to himself, and deliberately turned away so as not to distract himself any further from his work. _Do not_ , he told himself again as he sat back down. And for the rest of the afternoon, he didn't.


	4. Chapter 4

18 June 2015

It was almost a quarter to seven when George found herself fumbling in her bag for her purse to pay for the coffee being made in front of her. The coffee machine whirred and frothed while she fought through receipts, discarded bus tickets and tangled headphones and made a mental note to sort through all this stuff before tomorrow night. Don't think about the date, she reminded herself.

She was due at work at 7pm and she had a fifteen minute walk ahead of her, if only she could find her damned money. Finally locating a few coins she kept in the side pocket of her bag for emergencies (and coffee most definitely qualified as an emergency), George held them out for the barista and hurriedly emptied two packets of sugar onto the frothed milk. It sank down and she looked around for a stirrer. There were none. The man behind her was shuffling towards her rudely and as the clock on the wall reminded her, she didn't have time to do anything other than slot the plastic lid onto the takeaway cup, zip up her bag and fly towards the door of the coffee shop.

As she reached the door of the cafe, George realised she could hear a phone ringing. A phone that very much sounded like her own. Huffing with the irritation that accompanies being late for work and not having enough hands free to answer a phone while carrying coffee and negotiating a door, she suddenly came face to face with a wall of black fabric.

George blinked rapidly.

“Oh! Sorry!” she said instinctively and took a step backwards, forgetting the ringing phone in her bag as she looked up at the stern face glaring down at her. Cheekbones worthy of a model, black hair brushed straight back off his forehead, steely blue eyes that didn't show an ounce of kindness, even though he was definitely half to blame for this inconvenience. George looked down at the door again, grabbing it to allow him to stride past her and into the shop.

“Excuse you,” she muttered to herself as she left the shop without a second glance back.

“Prick,” she mumbled. She would definitely be late for work.

Had she looked, she would have seen Khan’s face soften ever so slightly as he watched her leave. _Her._

Khan stared at her as she walked away down the street. She was failing to catch the lid of her coffee cup as the wind lifted it up into the air and down onto a puddle on the pavement. Had he been outside in the street he would have heard her hissing a string of curses, but instead he watched. The corner of his angular mouth lifted again and his eyes creased at the edges as Khan smiled.

After she had taken the last few streets flat out to make sure she wasn't late, George had arrived at work on time; out of breath, but on time. Just. Her night shift raced by and as she glanced at the tiny clock on the bottom right of her computer screen for the third time in five minutes (it was still 6.48am), she didn’t give a moment’s thought to the defrosted tyrant she had bumped into the previous evening.

Eventually, 7am arrived and she threw her belongings into her overstuffed bag, draped her scarf around her neck and stepped out into the bright sunshine of a midsummer’s day. She adored her walk home after a night shift at this time of year; the sun had been up for hours but the day was barely underway. The traffic was beginning to swell in the streets and the sounds of the city were increasing in volume from faint whispers to unashamed shouts; promises of excitement and adventure in the day to come, she thought. A day George fully intended to spend in bed.

  
***

  
Well rested and with butterflies circling annoyingly in her stomach, George took another sip of her glass of red wine. She swallowed quickly and bent down to slip her phone back into her bag which sat on the floor. She knew she had fallen quickly into the routine that accompanied waiting for a date; checking the mobile phone for messages and swiftly putting it away again so as not to be looking at the phone should her date arrive at that very moment. She took a deep breath and fixed her eyes at a point on the far wall.

He was a nice guy, Matt. She knew this because she made a point of only going on dates with nice guys. In fact, she noted as she took another gulp of Shiraz, they'd joked about being stood up by each other. Laughed and made eye contact, respectfully flirty, while they chatted in the pub and arranged this date. Their extended group of friends had all been enormously pleased that they'd finally got past the small talk and realised they had a few things in common. It had taken long enough (a couple of years of knowing each other by association with other friends) so when they at last got around to arranging to go out for drinks together, George had, she admitted, been rather excited. She checked her phone again. Nothing.

Twenty minutes later, George drained her wine glass and made a trip to the ladies room, to kill time rather than  to satisfy any biological need. She emerged with a final, optimistic roll of her shoulders and as she weaved through the busy waiting staff and headed towards the railway-sleeper refectory-style table, her stomach flipped when she saw a figure sat there. His back towards her, she stared as she moved closer, and frowned.

She stopped in the middle of the busy bar, causing the girl who was walked behind her to bump into her gently.

“Hey!” the girl exclaimed, putting her hands on George’s shoulders to prevent her from falling into her. “Good job I'm not carrying drinks, isn't it?”

“S...sorry.” George murmured and turned around to look at the girl, who was now smiling, so it didn't appear to have caused any harm.

“I… Never mind.” George turned back and headed straight for her table, where her date, it appeared, hadn't arrived after all. That wasn't Matt. His hair was the wrong colour and he was far too tall. It was… Who was it?

She stopped next to her seat at the table and looked down at the man.

“Um,” she started. “This, this is my table. I'm sorry, but I was sat here. I'm waiting for someone.”

The man sat at the table with the wine list in his hands, his back ramrod straight. He was wearing a black top and black jeans and he slowly lifted his eyes from the menu as George watched. Two bright blue eyes fixed her with their gaze and she suddenly remembered him from the coffee shop. She frowned again.

“But now, I am sat here.” He said bluntly, with a small smile, and turned his head slowly back to the list of overpriced red wine he was holding.

“Umm,” George looked around the bar, scanning for Matt, or a hidden camera. “No, this was my table, it's quite rude of you to just sit here and now I'm telling you this is where I was sat you really ought to move. Look,” she continued, “there's a group just leaving over there, you can sit there if you like.”

“I don't. I'm sitting here. I'm going to order a bottle of the Argentinian Malbec and I would like you to sit down and join me.”

He looked up, meeting her eyes again as he scraped back his chair and stood, back still perfectly straight as he towered over her. George's face was about level with his chest and she could just see the hint of defined muscle underneath the fabric.

“Oh, I remember you!” She blurted out. “You're that prick who walked into me while I was getting my coffee the other day!” She took a step backwards and went to grab her jacket from the back of the chair she had been sitting in, brushing her hair away from her face, which was flushing with the embarrassment and annoyance she was beginning to feel at not only being stood up but being told what to do by this wanker.

He extended a muscular arm towards her and held out a large hand for her to take. Apparently he'd remembered some manners.

“John," he said, and waited.


	5. Chapter 5

  
George inhaled, and then released an exaggerated sigh. She glanced around the bar, to see the table she had suggested Khan should move to was being taken by a group of excited women carrying pitchers of mojitos. Looking at her phone again, George saw it flash up with a message alert. The man at the table was seated again and was sat perfectly still, watching her. Quickly, she read the message, which, she was simultaneously relieved and irritated to find, was from Matt.

_Sorry again I couldn't make it tonight, something came up… Hoping you got my message yesterday. M._

George looked briefly up at Khan as the entire incident in the coffee shop flashed in front of her eyes and she remembered that her phone had been ringing right before she collided with his chest. Indeed, there it was, a little notification inside her call log, with a voicemail message from Matt, left around 24 hours previously. She turned away slightly from the prying blue eyes as she listened to the short message. Finally, George brought her arm down and locked her phone, putting it back inside her bag. The man was still staring at her, except now his blank expression had changed to one of annoyance, or amusement - she couldn't really tell which.

“Would you like to order?” The waiter gave them both a wide smile, and the man finally tore his eyes away from George to address him.

“A bottle of the Malbec, please,” he said. “Two glasses.”

“Tap water, please,” George heard herself say, and she sat down slowly on the chair opposite the man.

The waiter nodded and disappeared back into the busy bar.

“I need a drink of water, okay? I'm not staying. I've been stood up, well, in fact, not really stood up, but that's what it feels like and I'm pissed off. So, I'm going to drink this water - thank you,” George acknowledged the waiter, who had placed a carafe of water and two tumblers on the table. “And then I'll leave you to your bottle of wine.”

She poured a glass of water for herself and one for the man opposite her, who held his hand out again to her.

“John,” he repeated.

She took his hand gently, giving it a quick - polite - shake and a small smile.

“George,” she replied.

“You are unhappy,” Khan said. “You were supposed to meet someone here tonight. Why?”

“Why am I annoyed?” George asked with a small laugh. “Because I had a date. With a bloke I liked and who liked - likes - me. And now I'm sat with you as you try to boss me around, which wasn't really in my plans.”

George took a lengthy drink of her water as the waiter returned with Khan’s wine. She watched him wrap his long fingers around the bowl of the large wine glass and swirl the drop that the waiter had poured for him to try. Lifting it to his nose, he met her eyes as he inhaled. He held her gaze while he inclined his head towards the waiter and nodded to indicate that the wine was acceptable. The waiter grinned, poured a glass for Khan and before she could stop him, a second glass for George.

Khan lifted the glass towards her and tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow.

Reflecting for a few moments, George took in the stranger sat opposite her. His movements were slow and measured. He was in complete control and had a confidence she usually found unattractive; the arrogance inherent in his request for her to join him raised her hackles instantly. He was certainly very attractive, but she knew better than falling for a pretty face and she wasn't happy about the fact he clearly thought she should do as he was telling her. He was intense; he used those incredible eyes to good advantage but she didn't know whether it was deliberate or merely accidental. Although, she thought, he probably doesn't do anything by accident.

But, she had been left high and dry by her date and she’d already had a glass of wine so she was more inclined to make small talk with a stranger. She had needed a drink of water, although, she noted, she had now all but finished it. So, why was she still sat here? She took a deep breath and smiled at him, taking the glass from him and taking a sip.

“But I guess I can stay for a drink. _One_ drink,” George said, hoping this wouldn't be a mistake. It was perfectly okay to take a chance on a conversation with an unknown; it wasn't as if she was agreeing to sleep with him, she reminded herself with a small shake of her head. God, she'd been on a couple of blind dates that had been a lot worse than this - whatever this was - and those individuals had been nowhere near as intriguing as John.

“So, John, what do you do?”

“Research,” Khan stated simply. He bristled slightly and looked quickly at the door of the bar, which had been left open by a group of people leaving. A flash of intense annoyance ghosted across his face, but disappeared again just as rapidly once the door fell shut.

“Research? Into what?” George asked him.

“Travel. Non-linear travel.”

George nearly spat out the second sip of wine she was mid-swallowing. “You - what? Like Dr Who?”

Khan smirked and ignored her question, choosing instead to sip at his wine again, leaning towards George across the table and blinking slowly.

“George. It is short for another name, yes?” Khan asked her.

“Yeah. Georgina. Which I hate, so I've been George since I was about six,” she replied. “What do you mean non-linear travel?”

“You do not need to know,” Khan stared at George and she got the very definite impression that she should leave this line of questioning alone. Annoyed, she gulped down some more wine and tried to ignore the fact that she was now quite interested in finding out more about this strange man.

Khan watched her as she drank her wine. She seemed to be self assured but not outwardly over-confident, although he got the distinct impression she would not be afraid to speak her mind if she needed to (it did not once cross his mind that he might be on the receiving end). Her eyes flashed with an occasional intensity he hoped to see more of, and by the way she was knocking back this glass of Malbec, she could appreciate a good (ish) red wine. He would like to introduce her to the collection of fine wines he had been accruing during the preceding months.

“Are you local?” George asked him, determined to extract some lighthearted conversation, as much as small talk annoyed her.

“I am renting an apartment approximately 2.3km away.”

“Precise,” she grinned at him.

“There is no other way to be,” he elaborated, deadpan. “I see no reason to be vague. You asked me a question and I gave you an accurate answer.”

She laughed, snorting a little. “But you refused to answer my last question!”

“On the contrary. I did not _refuse_ to answer; I _gave_ you an answer, which was that you did not need to know any more details about my employ. That that answer was not what you necessarily wanted to hear is _your_ problem, and not mine.”

Khan took a drink of his wine and arched an eyebrow at George.

George threw him an unimpressed look and drained her wine glass. Placing it forcefully down on the table, she turned to take her jacket from the back of her chair. Khan, realising that she was about to leave, felt an entirely unexpected and long-since familiar tug of disappointment stirring. Surprised at his own emotional reaction, he started to pour another glass of wine for George.

“No, thank you,” she told him. “I should go.”

“You will not stay for another drink? Then give me your contact details and we will do this again.” Deep, _deep_ down, Khan knew that he was articulating himself in the wrong way, but his focus at this very moment was on ensuring he could see George again. He wanted to show her his wines and perhaps share more with her than she could possibly conceive… after a little re-education, he thought to himself, amused.

“That's quite rude, John. I don't know you from the next person here, and quite honestly you're not very good at small talk. Which makes two of us,” she muttered.

John scraped his chair back quickly, which made a loud noise on the wooden floor of the bar as it moved.

“You will see me again,” he intoned, perfectly seriously, stepping in front of George as she grabbed her bag and made to move towards the door.

“No, John. That's not an improvement! You can't speak to people - strangers, in fact - like this. I don't know where you are from but if you think it's okay, but... It's not!”

“I apologise. I have merely enjoyed your company this evening and I find you attractive. I would like to have another chance to speak with you,” Khan backtracked, feeling as much out of his depth as it was possible for an augmented human to feel.

Against all her heart’s wishes, because the honest truth was that she would have liked to have spoken to him more herself, if he could only develop a few social skills, George shook her head and sidestepped past Khan to leave. “No,” she said, looking him straight in those eyes. “Thank you for my drink. Good luck with your time travel. Oh, and for future reference, telling people that in conversation makes you sound like… Well, a bit of a lunatic.”

With that, George weaved through the tables and left the bar, leaving Khan with a half-drunk bottle of wine but, unfortunately, absolutely no insight into how he might be perceived by others.


	6. Chapter 6

Arriving home an hour later, Khan couldn't properly define his mood. Having enjoyed observing the people in the bar; watching them laugh and joke with their friends, his thoughts had inevitably wandered to his people; cast adrift, all together or completely alone, like him? He disliked not knowing. Hell, they could all be in different universes. Khan knew there had been a huge malfunction in the equipment that had sent him to this version of 2015, even if he hadn't made any progress in ascertaining how it had happened, or how he could return.

This wasn't the same version of the world whose people he had presided over in the 1990s, that was for sure. That Earth had prospered under his capable leadership, but it had been very different, both in its appearance and it's society. He was still acclimatising to this world, he was beginning to realise, and his encounter with George was weighing heavily on his mind.

In his time as leader, George would have known who Khan was; his reputation for being a fearsome and, when called-for, _savage_ leader preceded him and although he would not have expected a prospective partner to give themself over to him without question, he was definitely not accustomed to having to start from scratch. Social niceties for Khan Noonien Singh were political in motivation, and without this power, Khan was, he was reluctantly beginning to acknowledge, a little lost.

He would have to think a little differently if he was to make sure he could see George again.

Khan paced into his bedroom, lifting his black shirt over his head and giving a cursory thought to the hot water system and whether it would oblige him this evening. It was a warm evening but the draught allowed to periodically stream from the entrance to the bar towards their table had chilled him.

As he turned on the shower, he closed the bathroom door and unfastened the top button of his trousers. His thoughts wandered to George again and Khan felt his whole body flush. He couldn't be sure whether it was the steam clouding up from the hot water of the shower (and it was hot, thankfully), or the shining blue eyes and reticent smile she had fixed him with during her all-too-short time with him this evening. Whichever it was, as Khan pulled off his trousers and socks and stepped into the stream of water, he thought about what her lips might feel like against his.

The water hit Khan’s back and shoulders and he revelled in its warmth as he pushed the pads of his index and middle fingers across his bottom lip, imagining they were George’s. The shower water ran in flat streams, down and over the curve of his bottom, down the backs of his thighs and on to his calves, soaking the fine, pale hairs there. He ran both hands through his jet black hair, tipping his head back to wash his face under the almost unbearable heat of the shower. And still he thought of George.

He thought about how she might feel under his fingertips, tracing _her_ lips in return. He imagined the curve of her neck as it fell away to her shoulders, the sweep of her hips as they rounded from her waist, the soft expanse of an inner thigh, the less toned the better. He could barely remember his last sexual encounter, but he knew it would likely have been with an augment like him; a woman who matched his own physical superiority and stamina. Now though, he craved the imperfections of regular humanity. He wondered how far he could push her before she would submit to him. And what she would do in response…

By now half-hard, Khan grabbed his cock in his right hand, wrapping his fingers around it and losing himself in his thoughts. He had not encountered anyone who had sufficiently interested him since he had been on this earth. For four months he had buried mere memories of desire, his focus elsewhere. Now, it was all he could do to stop himself finding out where she lived and going round there…. He told himself she would in all likelihood despise him more for that, but the thought of seeing her angry at his persistence made his cock swell further.

As it hardened under his expert touch, Khan began with light strokes, up and down the shaft while he let the water continue to bathe his shoulders. He let out a deep breath. His thoughts shifted, away from the softness of George’s lips and the long languid stripes he would carve out with his tongue across her belly, to his large hands tightening around her wrists while he told her what he would do to her.

He would hold her in place while she squirmed against him, fighting, not of aggression but because he would drive her mad with anticipation; Khan’s arrogance was not only borne out of his augmented super-strength, but from his otherwise physical and emotional superiority, his heightened senses and sexual instincts. He knew how to touch a woman, how to drive her to the edge and how to keep her there for as long as he wanted - or needed.

Groaning a little with the thought of her pliant underneath his hands, he imagined her, spread and glistening in front of him as he held her in place and teased her with his fingertips, barely touching her warmth, but enough to make her cry out his - _real_ \- name. She would writhe underneath his hands while he kept her as still as he could, and eventually he would decide she had had enough and he would allow her to orgasm.

Standing in his shower, Khan increased the pace of his hand, dragging it up and down the length of his hard cock, flicking his wrist gently as his fingers glided over the sensitive skin at the end of his penis, where he was already beginning to leak, the water from the shower washing away the evidence of his arousal. He would allow her to orgasm. The control he relished, the control he needed, would allow her to orgasm, to come apart beneath his hands, or his tongue, or his cock, that he squeezed gently now as he applied just the right amount of pressure. Khan braced himself against the tiled wall with his left arm, leaning towards the wall, biceps bulging as the whole of his body tensed with the arousal coursing through it.

With a stifled moan and the water running over his face as he leaned back into it, mouth open, Khan picked up the pace even further, increasing his speed and letting the images in his mind overwhelm him. Pushing away from the wall once again, turning his whole body and resting his broad shoulders against the slippery tiles, Khan brought his left hand down to the top of his thigh, underneath the hollow formed by the visible ‘V’ that met its apex at his cock. Spreading his fingers over his pale skin, he dug his fingernails in as he slid his right hand, over and over, back and forth on his dick, his whole body shaking now with the force of his determined strokes.

His free hand shifted an inch or two towards his balls and Khan rubbed a fingertip over the straining sac as he growled, muffled by the noise of the shower. Finally, his cock swelled to the point of pain, and he came, spurts of come falling into the shower tray and washing away immediately. Khan moved his hand in time with the rhythm of his pleasure, continuing to enjoy every last shudder of his body as it shook with the force of his orgasm, moaning quietly, his mind blank now and freed momentarily of months' worth of worry. He stood under the water for some time, enjoying the freedom of his release while his body recovered from the intensity of it.

***

A few miles away, unbeknown to Khan, a cross, and if she was completely honest with herself, _frustrated_ George, tried and failed to concentrate on the book she had spread across her lap. staring at the wall in front of her, she suddenly slammed the book shut and set it aside, preferring, she realised, to be alone with her thoughts. Of intense blue eyes, a ramrod straight back, large hands and skilful fingers and what they might be able to achieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)


End file.
